When Subterfuge is Done
by tinlizzie82
Summary: Starts out as a post-ep to Canary's Song, but goes in a very different direction after that. Major Callian angst will be coming. Breaking my rule about posting WIPs so read and review to encourage me if you like this.
1. Prologue

_A/N: So this story came about as a result of two things. First, when I was writing my original post-ep to **Canary's Song,** I had a terrible time keeping them from screwing everything up the next morning and that got me thinking about how, despite what my shipper heart might want, Cal and Gillian are so not ready to take their relationship to the next step. The second bit of impetus was my thoughts regarding the stories that recognize this but lay all (or most) of the blame at Cal's door. That led me around to taking a long look at Gillian and realizing that she often fits the profile of the typical enabler, and as such, she is part of the problem._

_Now I feel the need to explain a few things about the writing in this story. You will notice that the first chapter (which starts off as another post-ep for the balcony scene) is written in a rather odd almost stream of consciousness style, complete with parenthetical inserts. I originally intended to do the whole story that way, but then it grew and it became impossible to keep the narrative going that way. I decided to leave the first chapter as is and use it as a prologue, but then switch to a more straightforward form for the remainder of the story. There might be a return to S-O-C at the very end, but I don't know yet._

_Also, if you find yourself reading portions that seem to be repeating previous action, you are not mistaken. Since I wanted to examine their skewed views of themselves and each other, I have chosen to tell many of the important moments twice - once from each of their viewpoints. This should also tip you off not to take the characters impressions or ideas about things as any sort of gospel - they might be right, they might be wrong, they might be anywhere in between._

_OK, I'm almost done with this, the longest A/N in history. Just one final word about the poem that prefaces the story (and which provided my title). It is one of my favorites and is often listed as one of ED's love poems, but there is an alternate reading that says it is about finding your true self as opposed to the face you show the world. This dual meaning made it perfect since this story touches on both topics. Anyway ... enjoy._

_As always, don't own the show, don't own the characters, don't own the poem, etc., etc., ... blah, blah, blah._

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* * *

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**_Of All the Souls that Stand Create_**

_Of all the souls that stand create _

_I have elected one. _

_When sense from spirit files away, _

_And subterfuge is done;_

_When that which is and that which was _

_Apart, intrinsic, stand, _

_And this brief tragedy of flesh _

_Is shifted like a sand; _

_When figures show their royal front _

_And mists are carved away,— _

_Behold the atom I preferred _

_To all the lists of clay!_

**- Emily Dickinson**

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* * *

**

**Prologue: Part One**

She reached up and turned off the headlamp on that ridiculous helmet he was wearing. Even after all the liquid courage she had imbibed, she still felt the need to do this under the cover of darkness. Then slowly, oh so very slowly, she swayed towards him, her eyes closing and her heart beating fast as she wondered (_worried_) if he would meet her halfway.

And he did. In that split second before they touched, she could feel his breath against her face and the tiny knot of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach untied itself and she breathed out the smallest of sighs, so that when their lips finally met, hers were already parted. After that it was little more than a blur of sensations - his tongue against her teeth, her hand in his hair, the way he crushed her against himself, fingers bunching up in the soft fabric of her sweater. And underneath it all a she could feel the tie that bound them, the tie that kept them careening back into one another every time they stretched it. She felt it relax, able to slacken now that they were finally close enough to ease its tension.

But it was over almost as soon as it began. With a tiny groan (_was it pleasure or pain_), Cal stepped back, cupping her face between his hands and staring into her eyes in the dim light.

"No, Gill," he said. "We're not doing this, love. Not tonight. Not when you're drunk. Not when you might regret it in the morning."

And all she could think was ... damn you, Cal Lightman. Damn you for picking the worst time to be a gentleman.

* * *

The problem was, Gillian thought to herself the next morning as her head pounded with the aftereffects of the scotch, the same alcohol that had let her step off the cliff of their relationship had also prevented her from reading his reaction to her leap. She had no idea whether he had stopped out of (_misguided_) chivalry or if that had just been a convenient excuse to end an awkward interlude.

He had wanted her. Yes, that much had been easy to read. Her hand drifted towards her stomach as she remembered the feel of him, all of him, pressed up against her. Then she snatched her hand back (_don't think about that_), and bit her lip as she tried to reconstruct his expression when he broke away from their embrace. Because wanting her didn't really mean much - Cal Lightman had wanted lots of women. That she knew for sure since she had watched him parade them in and out in the years since he and Zoe had divorced.

But there was wanting ... and there was wanting. And she had no idea which one applied in her case.

So she pretended nothing had happened. Or, more accurately, that she didn't remember (_like she could ever forget one of his kisses_) what had happened. She brewed herself a pot of strong coffee, took four Advil and a long shower, and made sure she got into the office on time. She did not want him to call to check on her. When she finally spoke to him she wanted (_needed_) to be able to see his face.

He must have been waiting for her (_was that a good sign?_). He came sidling up to her while she was still in reception collecting her mail and wishing her head would stop pounding. He slid in close (_oh God, so close_), tilting himself to get between her and the counter, and stared up into her face, searching.

Which told her nothing, really, because the only thing she could see on his face when he gave her that look was concern (_and fear ... she didn't want to see the fear_). So she schooled her own features into the look she had become an expert at. The look that said butter wouldn't melt in her mouth (_don't think of melting_). The look that asked what he was staring at because there was nothing there to see.

"Ah, yeah," he said, in that way of his that made it into a one word exclamation (_of discovery ... or regret . She thought maybe she saw a little regret ... but regret for what? What happened ... or what didn't happen?_).

"What?" She was the very picture of confused innocence.

"Thought maybe you'd be feeling a bit less than chipper this morning, love."

"I'm fine, Cal," she replied. Then (_feeling more frightened than fine, and just a touch nauseous_) she turned away and headed down the hall to her office.

She didn't see the way the way he watched her leave. Eyes pinned to her back, he sagged against the counter, looking for all the world like a little child watching the one thing he wanted disappear into the distance.

* * *

**Prologue: Part Two**

She reached up and turned off the headlamp on the ridiculous helmet he was wearing and his heart leaped in his chest. He watched, mesmerized, as she swayed towards him. Unable to stop himself, he took a step towards her and the next thing he knew, she was in his arms and he was kissing her. And it felt so right to be holding (_finally more than holding_) her.

And the taste of her (_oh god, the taste_) as his tongue explored her mouth made him fist his fingers in her sweater and pull her even closer in some wordless desire to actually inhabit her. It all swirled together into nothing (_and everything_) more than a blur - the smell of her, the feel of her belly against the pressure in his groin, the after taste of scotch (_wait ... the scotch_) on her tongue.

That was what made him finally come to his senses. Because he was Cal (_the rotter_) and she was the one bright and shining thing in his otherwise tarnished life. This wasn't going to happen (_so hard to make his mouth form the words_), not tonight, not while she was drunk. For once in his life he was going to do the right thing.

Because even though he might regret his uncharacteristic bout of self-control in the morning, it would be even worse if she regretted the lack of hers the morning ... after.

* * *

Not calling her the next morning (_or not calling her all night, for that matter_) was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Unable to sleep, he had risen before dawn and headed for the office (_you will not drive to her house_), arriving in the soft grey light of dawn. Then he had sat at his desk waiting, ticking off the minutes until he could call (_without it meaning something she might not want to know_).

But then, just as he was thinking it was finally time, he heard the buzzer of the front entrance, and then the sound of her voice as she greeted Anna. She sounded totally normal (_is normal good ... or bad?_). Although he knew he should wait until she got to her office, he couldn't, so he stalked down the hallway and slid up into her space, peering at her face in search of some clue as to exactly what had happened last night.

And saw nothing. He had been so very afraid of what he might find (_disgust ... at him, at herself_), but he had never thought he would see ... nothing. She looked exactly like she did every day, perfect and unperturbed. Was it possible she didn't even remember (_but how could that be when every second still burned in his brain_). He couldn't help himself, and so he probed a bit.

"Thought maybe you'd be feeling a bit less than chipper this morning, love."

"I'm fine, Cal," she said in dismissal before she turned away.

And there it was, yet another thing they weren't going to talk about. And he still had no idea (_why the scotch, why last night, why not this morning_) ... why.


	2. Uninnocent, these conversations start

_A/N: So I have succumbed to the conceit of titling each chapter with a line from a poem and then prefacing it with the poem itself. If anyone has any particular favorites they think I might want to use, please feel free to make suggestions._

_As far as the chapter goes - we return to a fairly standard format from here on out. This one is primarily in Gillian's POV._

**_Also, please don't yell about the sexual harassment stuff. I am not in any way implying that it doesn't occur or should be glossed over, just using an instance where it didn't and it should be. It does happen this way sometimes people._**

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* * *

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**Conversation**

_The tumult in the heart  
__keeps asking questions.  
__And then it stops and undertakes to answer  
__in the same tone of voice.  
__No one could tell the difference._

_Uninnocent, these conversations start,  
__and then engage the senses,  
__only half-meaning to.  
__And then there is no choice,  
__and then there is no sense;_

_until a name  
__and all its connotation are the same._

**Elizabeth Bishop**

**

* * *

**

After that, everything went on as before. Avoidance had become second nature to them, and if Cal spent a little more time than usual studying her face, she pretended not to notice. She was doing the same herself. If nothing else, he seemed a bit less manic as they worked through their next several cases.

In a strange way, she almost missed his wild gyrations. As much as his extravagances sometimes hurt her, she often saw them as the strange Lightman version of a mating dance. As if Cal was displaying for her, spreading his feathers and stomping his feet, reminding her at times of an enraged peacock. Attention getting but not always particularly effective. Now he seemed at least temporarily intent on being a better friend and partner and she told herself this made her happy.

But she didn't kid herself that it would last. She knew he was motivated by several persistent demons and sooner or later he would go back to his familiar ways. She almost welcomed it because the calm that should have been soothing was strangling her instead. What she didn't remember was that old saw about being careful what you wish for.

* * *

They were interviewing their latest potential client, a woman suing her previous employer for sexual harassment and unfair termination. The woman's lawyer had been the one to suggest bringing them into the case and now the four of them were seated on the couch and chairs in Cal's office as they questioned the client and tried to determine if the case was worth their while.

It went smoothly at first, Gillian questioning the woman while Cal observed her reactions. When they wanted to be, she and Cal were like a well oiled machine.

"So, Ms. Salerno, could you tell me when you were dismissed?" Gillian asked in the neutral tone she always used when first meeting clients, ignoring the fact that there was something about this woman that raised her hackles.

"About a month ago," the woman said with a smile. "By the way, please call me Kristi. Otherwise I'll keep looking around for my mother." Gillian noted that although she was the one questioning her, this last bit was directed straight at Cal.

"Okay, Kristi. How long prior to your dismissal were you being harassed?"

"Oh, uh, it went on for about three weeks before he gave me my notice."

"You're referring to your boss, Mr. Ostrander."

"Yes."

"And it had never happened before?" Gillian asked, although she knew the answer from reading the file the lawyer had given them.

"Well, no, he wasn't there before. He was new." Kristi looked back and forth between her lawyer and Gillian. "Don't you know all this already?" she asked.

"We do, but we like to hear it from you as well," Cal interjected. He knew he should let Gillian take the lead but he couldn't help himself. This girl was a pot of trouble and Cal had an irrepressible urge to stir it.

Kristi turned in Cal's direction. "Oh, I guess I understand that," she said as she recrossed her legs in such a way that her skirt rode up another inch or so. Then she leaned towards him and smiled again. "I guess I don't mind you asking. It just feels like I've told this story so many times."

Gillian watched Cal return Kristi's gaze and knew that he was up to something - and she was pretty sure it was something she wouldn't like. She tried to get the interview back under her control.

"Was there something that precipitated this behavior?" she asked.

"Precipitated?" Kristi asked, wide eyes still directed at Cal.

"What started it, love?" Cal rephrased the question.

"Oh. It started at the office party," Kristi told Cal with a grateful look.

"What, exactly, did Mr. Ostrander do?" Gillian asked.

Reluctantly looking back towards Gillian, she answered "He flirted with me ... and then he tried to grope me."

"Right there in front of everyone?"

"No, no. We were out in the hall. Alone."

"Could you describe what you mean by grope?" Gillian pressed her for more details.

Kristi looked down, her face coloring a bit, then back up at Cal through her still lowered lashes. "It's kinda embarrassing."

"You're going to have to tell an entire courtroom if this goes to trial," Gillian pointed out, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

Cal flashed her a look, then smiled to himself. He got up and perched himself on the arm of Kristi's chair. "Just tell us any way you can."

"He touched me ... like this," Kristi said, hesitantly cupping one breast as a demonstration. "And here," she continued as she slid her hand down her body to the vicinity of her ass.

Then she leaned in closer to Cal, pushing her chest out so that her too tight blouse gaped in his direction. "It was terrible. You can help me, can't you?" she pleaded, laying a hand on Cal's thigh.

Gillian's lips pressed together until they became a thin, hard line. There was no question Kristi was lying, and in fact, had been lying ever since she entered the room, so why was Cal encouraging her. If this was Cal's idea of some sort of joke, she really didn't want to see the punchline.

"And what happened after the party?" Cal asked solicitously.

"After I, uh, turned him down, I left. And then, the next day he filed a reprimand about me. Said I wasn't doing my job well."

"Then what?" Gillian asked.

"I went to see him to, you know, talk about the note in my file."

Gillian nodded at her to continue.

"He tried again ... to, you know ..." Kristi said, looking straight at Cal.

"I don't think we need another demonstration," Gillian said sardonically. Cal shot her a look of feigned disappointment.

"I thought it was over after that," Kristi continued, "but then a few weeks later he fired me." She seemed to be near tears now.

"And that reprimand, that was the first time he claimed to be dissatisfied with your work, right?" Cal was keeping his eyes directly on her and she was preening a bit at the attention, playing with her hair and batting her eyes.

"Yes."

"Funny that, because I read in the company's employee manual that you have to be given a verbal warning before a formal reprimand." Cal was swooping in for the kill, and Gillian began to get worried. His prey, however was still unsuspecting.

"I ... I don't remember getting one. But I was so stressed out by how he was treating me I could have forgotten." She accompanied this excuse with another view of her cleavage. And damn Cal if he didn't give it an appreciative look, drawing a shy smile from Kristi.

That smile faded though when she heard Cal's next words. He leaned forward as if commiserate with her. "Bit of a coincidence there, isn't it, that it was only after the warning that he tried to get friendly."

"I guess so. No, wait. I remember now, he used it to pressure me." Kristi was backpedaling hard now.

"Nah, he might have succumbed for a moment or two," Cal said as he stood up from her chair. He looked at the lawyer and gestured towards Kristi with what looked like a leer on his face. "Can't say as I blame him, if she was acting the same way with him that she has been with me."

"Are you accusing me of something?" Kristi cried.

"I didn't bring my client here to listen to this sort of thing. You're supposed to be helping us make the case, not badgering the victim," the lawyer bristled.

Then, amidst their protests, Cal flopped down on the couch next to Gillian. "She's no victim. She's a bleeding piranha."

Gillian pulled herself up straighter, distancing herself from Cal's sprawling posture, and tried to salvage the situation. "I think what Dr. Lightman is trying to say ..."

"... Is that Kristi here tried to trade a quick shag ..."

Gillian glared at him, stopping him in his tracks. "Cal," she said with her voice dangerously cold. "May I have have a word with you outside?"

Cal shrugged nonchalantly and followed her out into the hall.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" she demanded angrily.

"What? She was lying her arse off. You know that."

"And you decided that meant it was a good idea to embarrass her ... and her lawyer. Who, by the way, works at a large firm that we would love to get other cases from."

"That the only thing that's got your knickers in a twist, love?"

"Yes!" Gillian lied.

"Because we were never going to take this case, so it seems to me like you're overreacting."

And then, because she was just so damn angry, so frustrated with their weeks and weeks of stilted cordiality, she spoke without thinking and let the frustration show on her face. "Is this just a game to you, Cal? Or can you truly not figure out when you should and shouldn't be a gentleman?"

Cal leaned forward to stare at her intently. "What was that, love?"

"What was what?'" Gillian said, feigning ignorance as a form of retreat.

"Not what you said." Cal gestured towards her face, one finger making circles in the air and his head tilted sideways. "That."

"Oh that's good, Cal. You act like an ass and then you try to make it about me."

"You didn't answer."

"And I'm not going to because there isn't anything to answer. Now, are you going to behave yourself or do I have to go back and try to fix this myself." Cal just looked at her with a mutinous expression. "Fine," she said and then spun on her heels and went back into the office.


	3. The art of losing

_A/N: A short chapter in Cal's POV - a little rehash and a bit of new action. After this chapter, we finally get into the heart of the story so I will post again really soon. _

_A rather ironic poem to go with this one ..._

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**One Art**

_The art of losing isn't hard to master;_  
_so many things seem filled with the intent_  
_to be lost that their loss is no disaster,_

_Lose something every day. Accept the fluster_  
_of lost door keys, the hour badly spent._  
_The art of losing isn't hard to master._

_Then practice losing farther, losing faster:_  
_places, and names, and where it was you meant_  
_to travel. None of these will bring disaster._

_I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or_  
_next-to-last, of three beloved houses went._  
_The art of losing isn't hard to master._

_I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,_  
_some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent._  
_I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster._

_- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture_  
_I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident_  
_the art of losing's not too hard to master_  
_though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster. _

**Elizabeth Bishop**

**

* * *

**

Cal stared at the office door for a long moment before stalking down the hall and out of the building.

It wasn't like it was that big of a deal, he told himself as he strode out to his car. He had acted outrageously in front of clients before and Gillian had never reacted quite this strongly. Sometimes it was necessary to go out on a limb to get answers.

Of course this time it hadn't been necessary - he just wanted to. After their little talk on the balcony, Cal had been on his best behavior for weeks but he had been feeling so damn ... itchy lately, as if good behavior was something that chafed at him like a too rough sweater. So he had scratched that itch.

He shouldn't have. Sure, the view from the arm of that chair, the view that went straight down the blouse that Krissy, or Kristi, or whatever-the-hell-her-name-was had been barely wearing was nice, but that wasn't where his attention had been. He'd really been watching Gillian. Because that, after all, had been the point of the exercise. He hadn't cared about the client's reaction, he'd wanted to get one from her.

Thinking of Gillian made the itch start back up again, except this time it was more than an itch ... it was painful. He slammed a hand down onto the steering wheel, started the car and headed out onto the streets. He had no real idea where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay here.

Two hours later found him well on his way to a good drunk, ensconced on a bar stool in the sort of dive he went to when he wanted to find trouble. He rested his elbows on the sticky counter top and stared into his glass as if the whiskey might hold the answers to his problems. The rough-edged clientele gave him a wide berth. Even in the dim and smokey light, the set of his shoulders told them that he would not welcome intrusion.

He swirled the ice and whiskey in his glass, watching as the whorls of melting water formed and unformed and wondered if, in some strange way, the urban legend was true and alcohol really could function as a sort of truth serum. After all, look where he came when he drank - to a dive filled with lowlifes. Because that was where he belonged. That was the truth about him.

He could put on a good face, dress up and parade his doctorate around, but he knew it was a joke. He belonged down here with the brawlers and the bullies. He was at home with the people who had failed at life and the ones who dragged down all of those around them. Gillian deserved better than that. She deserved better than him.

That was the bitter kernel at the heart of their relationship. That was why he'd acted up today; he'd needed to remind her of who he truly was. Because he'd known, even before she made that unguarded comment, even before he'd seen the hurt and unwarranted jealousy in her eyes. He'd known that she was moving ever closer to saying something about that night on the balcony and he'd felt a sudden urge to stop her.

He knew his love would break her, just like he had broken almost everything else in his life. Because that was what he did. It was who he was and he would rather shatter into a thousand tiny pieces himself than harm a single atom of her. He had promised himself that years ago. It just had gotten so much harder to stick by that promise after being shown another possibility.

He downed the last of his scotch and looked up to catch the bartender's eye. As he waited for his next drink, his attention drifted to a couple that was sitting near him. The woman's cheeks were tear streaked and the man's puffy face looked as though he had seen a few too many nights of hard living. He listened in as the man cajoled and comforted her, pleaded for another chance, promised that this time he wouldn't stray, this time he wouldn't drink, this time he would be different. Despite the hope that was dawning on the woman's face, Cal could see that it was all lies.

He gulped down the drink the bartender had placed in front of him and headed over towards the couple. He'd always known that a good way to dull your own pain was to insert yourself into someone else's. He hovered in the background for another moment listening to the man make promises he had no intention of keeping, then he leaned over and caught the woman's eye.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't believe a word he says," he told her.

Cal felt a heavy hand on his shoulder as the woman's partner growled into his ear. "What did you say?"

He smiled to himself before turning and getting right up into the guy's face. "I told her you're a liar."

The man didn't bother to reply. With no warning, he drew back his fist and threw a solid roundhouse in Cal's direction. It knocked Cal down, and he recognized the warm coppery taste of blood in his mouth, but that didn't stop him. When he got to his feet, his smile had grown into a maniacal grin.

"Well, c'mon then, mate, or is that the best you've got?" he asked as his split lip smeared blood across his teeth.

Several bruised knuckles, two loose teeth, one black eye and a couple of cops later, Cal was cooling his heels in the local precinct as he waited for Gillian to come and pick him up. He hadn't intended to call her but given his injuries and his state of inebriation the cops had refused to let him go home alone. Emily was away, not that he would have put this on her anyway. He had no one else.


	4. When you come, unbidden

_A/N: Back to primarily Gillian's POV as we finally get to the heart of the story and you find out it's not going where you thought it was - I just hope people like where it does go. Remember, I did warn for major angst.

* * *

_

**When you come**

_When you come to me, unbidden,  
__Beckoning me  
__To long-ago rooms,  
__Where memories lie._

_Offering me, as to a child, an attic,  
__Gatherings of days too few.  
__Baubles of stolen kisses.  
__Trinkets of borrowed loves.  
__Trunks of secret words,_

_I CRY. _

**Maya Angelou

* * *

**

Gillian sat at her desk after she had managed to sooth the lawyer while at the same time making it clear that they couldn't help him in this case. She doubted that they would ever hear from his firm again, but that had been unlikely even before Cal's performance. Why then was she so damn angry with him?

He hadn't been seriously flirting with Kristi. She knew that and still it had gotten to her. When Cal had directed his heavy lidded gaze at that little twit, Gillian's vision had blurred and all she could think was - why doesn't he look at me like that?

Except he did, or at least he had. Not the exaggerated leers or deliberate once overs he gave her when he wanted to pull her pigtails, those were still very much in evidence. The problem was that not once since the night on the balcony had she sensed his intense gaze on her when he thought she wasn't looking. Not once had she felt that little frisson of heat that meant he was watching her and she missed it.

That alone should have settled the question. She had offered and he had not only declined but seemed to lose all interest in being anything more than her very good friend. She had her answer, she just couldn't seem to live with it. So she had decided to talk to him as soon as she came up with enough non-Macallan fueled courage to do so.

And then there was today, Watching him look at Kristi that way, watching him do it deliberately in front of her, had been the last straw. She had snapped and now she just couldn't seem to let go of the anger or find a way out of the despair.

So she did what she always did, and threw herself into her work. She saw Loker and Torres wander past her doorway and cast worried looks inside. She knew they had probably seen Cal storm out and now her isolation was making them nervous but she couldn't bring herself to offer them reassurance when she needed it so badly herself.

She had been going through the motions of paperwork for several hours, barely noticing when Anna stuck her head through the door and nervously told her she was locking up. Then her phone rang. When she saw Cal's number she almost ignored it but her gut was kicking up a ruckus and so, reluctantly, she answered.

"I need you," he said. No hello, no apologies, just the three words most likely to get her attention.

So she stifled her irritation and simply asked, "Where are you?" Because that was who she was and saving him yet again seemed like the only thing she could do.

* * *

Gillian found Cal in the lobby of the local precinct. He looked up when she approached him and she had no trouble reading the shame on his face. Despite his contrition, she held on to her anger.

"Are you ready to go?" she snapped at him.

"Gill, I'm sorry."

"You always are, but it never stops you."

"Hey, he threw the first punch."

Gillian made a dismissive noise. "That doesn't mean you didn't start it."

"I was trying to help."

"Right. What was it this time? A depressed drunk? A downtrodden single mom? A suicidal barmaid? I applaud your altruism, but I fail to see how a bar fight could help anyone," she said with an edge of sarcasm.

Cal didn't have an answer, usually he didn't need one. Usually, he just gave her his best begging look and she caved, but apparently his nickel had run out in that respect. So, he rested his aching head against the window of her car and the rest of the ride was spent in silence.

He assumed that when they reached his house she would just drop him off, given that she couldn't bring herself to speak to him right now. He should have known better. Gillian was nothing if not a healer and there was no way, no matter how mad she was, that she would leave someone alone when they were in need. Still, her impatience was obvious as he fumbled with his keys and as soon as the door was open she strode inside.

"Kitchen," was all she said, and he followed her dutifully.

Cal sat on a stool at the counter while Gillian busied herself collecting a supply of wet towels and a bag of ice. Then she stood in front of him and started to clean up his injuries.

"Ow!" he exclaimed as she swabbed at the cuts and bruises. "You're hurting me worse than the guy who did it in the first place."

"You deserve it," she muttered under her breath.

"I said I was sorry."

"It's not enough, Cal. Or maybe it's just ... too much. I don't know anymore."

Her hopeless tone scared Cal a little and he reached out a hand to cup her chin and make her look him in the eye. "No, Gill, I really am sorry and I don't know what I'd do without you."

Gillian sighed. "The question is, are you going to figure out what to do with me?"

As soon as that slipped out, Gillian wanted to take her words back. Now was not a good time to open that particular can of worms, but she could already see the worry and pain spreading across Cal's face. She looked away to avoid the sight.

"I can't," he said, his voice sounding strangled as he choked out the words. "I ... just can't."

"It's all right, Cal, I shouldn't have said anything." She braced herself for him to explain that he wasn't interested. Except that wasn't what happened.

"No, it's not all right, because the last thing I want to do is hurt you. Look at me, Gill," he said and then waited for her to turn her head back to him. "Look at me. I'm a mess, my whole life is a bleeding mess." He blinked back the tears that were threatening to form in his eyes. "I love you, but I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never let you know because my love hurts people. I hurt people and I won't do that to you. I will never, ever do that to you."

"But Cal, you're hurting me now. Do you think I don't know you. My eyes are wide open. We've been partners, we've been friends, for seven years. We've made it this far and who's to say it won't be better - we won't be better - if we take the next step?"

"That's just it, love, it won't be better because I'll just keep doing the same things and you'll keep trying to fix me. Until one day you'll realize you're just too tired to try again and I'll realize I've broken the one true friend I've ever had."

Gillian was about to open her mouth to ask him who had made him God, who had given him the right to make that decision for her, when she felt a sense of deja vu. Her mind's eye went back to another kitchen, on another night, with another man, and she saw herself with Alec, only two weeks before their wedding. He had just come home, obviously high on something, and she had confronted him. Unlike Cal, Alec had pleaded with her _not_ to leave him, but otherwise the situation was the same. And she saw, she finally saw, that no matter how many times she told herself that she had married him despite his addictions, no matter how many times she saw herself as the long suffering healer, it wasn't true. She finally admitted to herself that she had married him _because_ of his problems. Because they gave her a purpose, because they made her feel needed, because she didn't know how to _be_ without someone to save.

She knew it was the same with Cal. He didn't do drugs, and his gambling was more a peccadillo than a problem, but he was addicted ... to behaving badly. It somehow filled his deep seated need to see himself as undeserving. It was as if he was committed to fulfilling a dire prophesy that he had made about himself, and despite the fact that Cal was ten times the man that Alec had been, there was no reason to think that being with him would turn out any better or any different from her marriage.

She loved him, nothing could change that, but he was right - he would break her and she was pretty sure she might break him as well. She just didn't know where they went from here, because this dance they had been doing ever since she got divorced wasn't going to end and it suddenly felt like it was time for her to leave the party.

"You're right," she said.

Because he was, she knew that now. His reasons were wrong, fueled as they were by self-pity and his twisted, quixotic desires, but he was right none the less.

"You're right, and I don't know where we go from here." Her words hit him like a slap.

"Back to what we had before," he said, a note of panic in his voice.

"I can't do this. I can't stand the pain. I don't thrive on it the way you do. All I know is I can't be with you right now, and I don't want to be without you, and there doesn't seem to be a way out of the maze."

But even as she said it she knew the answer: it was time. It was time to end this crazy waltz they had been doing, twirling and turning around each other, unsure of the music and yet unable to stop. He needed to stop needing her and she needed to learn how to be alone. She had to find out who she really was when she didn't have someone to save.


	5. Will you leave me here, dying?

**I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair**

_Don't go far off, not even for a day, because -  
__because - I don't know how to say it: a day is long  
__and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station  
__when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep._

_Don't leave me, even for an hour, because  
__then the little drops of anguish will all run together,  
__the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift  
__into me, choking my lost heart._

_Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;  
__may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.  
__Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,_

_because in that moment you'll have gone so far  
__I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,  
__Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?_

**Pablo Neruda**

**

* * *

**

"You're right."

The words echoed in his head as loudly as if she had shouted them and they chased the last foggy remnants of the scotch from his brain. It was not what he had expected to hear. He had poured his heart out to her and she had ... agreed. That wasn't supposed to happen.

"I don't know where we go from here," she said and his heart twisted again.

How could she say that, wondered Cal, his panic now nearly overwhelming. They went back to the way they were, what other choice was there. He was giving her up because it was the right thing to do. All she had to do was go back to pretending that night on the balcony never happened, that this had never happened. He'd try harder to be the sort of partner, the sort of friend, she needed. He would promise to look before he leaped. Anything she wanted as long as they could just forget all this. Anything if she would just stop saying the same thing over and over again.

"I can't do this ... I can't be with you right now."

Finally he knew it was finished. He folded in on himself, already withdrawing from her to lick his wounds. "You know I can't buy you out right now, Foster," he said in a tired voice.

"I didn't ask you too."

"Are you coming back then, love?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. She wanted to cry but felt too wrung out to manage the tears. "I don't know, let's just take it one step at a time."

"When will you leave?"

"As soon as I figure out where I'm going. I'll come in tomorrow and let the staff know. I need to do that in person … but I want to do it alone."

He nodded his acquiescence and she gave him a grim little smile that didn't reach her eyes. She reached her hand out to caress his cheek before bending over to place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then without another backward glance she left.

Cal sat unmoving at the counter for a long while, almost as if he hoped that if he stayed where he was, time might choose to rewind and this could all become no more than a very vivid nightmare. But it didn't rewind and Gillian was truly gone. Finally he got up and wandered over to the liquor cabinet. He rummaged around for a moment before emerging with a bottle of scotch. He twisted off the cap and brought it to his lips, not even bothering with a glass. With the open bottle dangling from his hand, he made his way upstairs, intent on finding oblivion.

* * *

He stayed drunk for most of three days. On the second day he managed to get sober long enough to change his clothes and make it into the office for an hour. He could tell Loker and Torres wanted an explanation but he growled at them like a wounded bear and they kept their distance. He wouldn't have even put in that much of an appearance but the need for more scotch had gotten him out of the house at least temporarily. That and the need to check to see if Gillian really had left the firm.

She had. He didn't even have to go into her office to see that it was true, he could feel it. He could sense her absence in every molecule of empty air, but he tortured himself anyway. He went and sat at her desk, and stared at the walls and bookshelves, empty now except for the generic artwork and reference books that belonged to the firm. Gone were the photos, the little vase she sometimes filled with spring flowers, the stack of dog eared romance novels she thought she had hidden behind some scientific journals but he always knew were there. Had been there. Weren't there anymore.

He slammed his fist down onto the desk so hard he bruised his knuckles. The pain momentarily distracted him but it didn't last so he got up and left the building, stopping on his way home to buy that liquid forgetfulness that had gotten him through the past two days.

He had no idea how long he would have continued to numb himself with whiskey if it hadn't been for Emily. On the morning of the fourth day, he rolled off the couch where he had taken to sleeping because, by the time night fell, he was usually incapable of negotiating the stairs. He was standing at the kitchen counter, head hanging as he pondered the wisdom of an attempt to consume something other than alcohol, when his eyes fell on his datebook. Blinking blearily, he started to torture himself by trying to recall what he and Foster would have been doing if everything hadn't fallen apart. That was when he remembered that his daughter was supposed to return from her mother's today.

Panic rushed through him. He might be contemplating the possibility of flushing his life down the toilet but there was no way he would take Emily along with him. Bad enough that he had single-handedly chased off the woman who was her closest confidante, he could not let her see him like this.

Grabbing the half empty bottle of scotch, he poured the remainder down the sink to remove the temptation. Then he put a kettle on to heat and went in search of something to quell the pounding behind his eyes. Two cups of tea, some dry toast and several aspirin later, he finally felt well enough to head upstairs.

A dig through his closet produced some clean clothes; the next step was a shower. Standing under the scorching spray he closed his eyes and waited in the vain hope that the water and steam might work together to erase the signs of the past few days, but when he finally got out and swiped a hand across the clouded mirror he knew it hadn't worked. A razor would get rid of the three days worth of stubble, and sleep and food would no doubt decrease the bags under his bloodshot eyes, but nothing could remove the look of despair that was etched onto his features. A look so stark and hopeless that even an untrained eye could read it easily. There was nothing he could do about that, so he just looked away.

By the time Emily arrived, he thought he looked at least presentable, a thought that was quickly erased when the first thing Emily did was rush to his side with an exclamation of worry.

"Dad, what's the matter? What's going on? Did something happen to Gillian?"

Cal's face twisted into a wry grimace as he was faced with the knowledge that even his daughter realized that Gillian was the only thing that would make him look as he did.

"Dad, tell me!" Emily demanded frantically when he failed to answer her right away.

"Gillian's … well, not fine, but … she's not hurt … at least not physically." Emily's eyes widened at his equivocations, and taking a deep breath, he tried to explain what she was bound to find out sooner or later. "She's decided to take a break from the company for a while."

"She what? Dad, what did you do?"

"That's not important. We just aren't … well we aren't very good for each other right now." Emily just glared at him in horror. "Emily, love, I didn't want this any more than you do, but I can't …"

"Can't what? Can't stop being a jerk, can't appreciate one of the best things that's ever come into our lives, can't even try to hold on to her …" She was crying now and he reached up to run a hand over her shoulder, to offer what little comfort he could, but she pulled away.

"Sweetheart, you have to understand, this is for the best. I'm not good for her, I'm barely good enough for you, so I have to let her go."

"Oh, that's rich, Dad. You screw up everything and then want to pretend you did it because you're some sort of self-sacrificing hero. Well, I know you're not, because I know what you really are and that's a coward," she blurted out before she turned and ran upstairs, sobbing.

Cal stayed where he was, Emily's words only adding to the pain he felt. He dropped his head into his hands, palms pressing against his eyes in an attempt to contain the tears that were threatening to come. Three days, he thought, it's only been three days … how am I going to make it through the rest of my life?

* * *

He had no idea how long he sat on the couch mourning everything he had lost but when the doorbell rang, he looked up and was startled to see that the daylight was fading. He ran his hands through his hair and scrubbed them over his face before rising to get the door. When he opened it, his heart leaped. Standing there on his stoop, looking wan but composed, was Gillian.

"Emily called," she said simply.

He stepped aside to allow her in, doing his best to keep the tiny stirring of hope he felt from showing on his face. He must not have succeeded because once she was inside, she turned to study him for a moment before speaking.

"I haven't changed my mind, Cal. It's just that she called and was so upset I knew I owed it to her to say goodbye in person. To try to, not explain, but maybe ease things a bit."

Cal nodded, his mask back in place. "She's upstairs."

"Thank you."

Cal watched despondently as she walked away to find his daughter, then he stationed himself in the kitchen at the foot of the stairs in the hope of possibly hearing what they said. In the hope that whatever reassurance she offered Emily might also afford him some relief as well. But whatever they had to say, they did it quietly, and when Gillian came back down a half an hour later, her face streaked with fresh tears, Cal was none the wiser about what had transpired between the two of them.

Rather than leave right away, Gillian stopped and stood across from him, on the other side of the kitchen island. He tried not to think about what that signified, tried not to think about just how broken their relationship must be if she needed three feet of counter between them before she could speak to him.

"I didn't just come to see Emily," she said, and then paused as if trying to find the strength to continue. Finally she sighed. "I know where I'm going and I wanted to give you the information in person, because whatever else happens, I don't want you to hate me."

"I could never hate you, Gill. I -"

"I'm going to a friend's place out in the Sea Islands of South Carolina," she said quickly, cutting him off before he could finish voicing his thought. "Here's the address and the phone number in case of emergency. I'm going to give it to Anna at the office as well. I'll be bringing my cell but Alison said service is very spotty out there and I shouldn't depend on it."

He took the slip of paper she was holding out. "Thank you. I hope you're happy there."

"I don't know about happy, but I know I'll have some peace. The area is nearly deserted in the winter."

He nodded, saying nothing but gripping the piece of paper like it was some sort of lifeline. She nodded back, also at a loss for words, and then she turned to leave. Just before opened the door, she looked back at him.

"I gave you that information for emergencies only. Do you understand that, Cal? I don't want you to contact me unless you have to."

He nodded numbly again and she gave a weak smile before slipping out the door and out of his life.

**_A/N: After this chapter, updates will slow a little (so I can catch up - I've only got 3 more chapters ready to go). Since the story is now set, I think a day or two in between won't be too jarring. I promise I will still keep them coming steadily without any really long breaks (barring RL imploding or something) so hang in there._**


	6. So we must keep apart

_A/N: I just want to give something by way of an answer to all of you who have asked about the ending of this story. Yes, in the end, everyone will find happiness **BUT** I am not going to say anything about the form that happiness will take because I really want the reader to take the journey along with the characters. That's the point of the story and if you know the final destination in advance, the the path to that destination loses much of its impact. So that's all you get for now, sorry, you'll just have to keep reading. And, of course, keep reviewing. :-)

* * *

_

**I Cannot Live Without You **(excerpt)

_... And were you saved,_  
_And I condemned to be_  
_Where you were not,_  
_That self were hell to me. _

_So we must keep apart,_  
_ You there, I here,_  
_ With just the door ajar_  
_ That oceans are,_  
_ And prayer,_

_And that pale sustenance,_  
_ Despair!_

**- Emily Dickinson

* * *

**

Gillian felt the last of her strength draining away as she drove home. After that night when she brought Cal home from the precinct, she thought she would fall apart. But she knew if she did then she would never leave, so she had dug down and mined whatever reserves of steel she could find in herself and used them to build a calm facade. Cal might say she was a terrible liar, but she was a very good fake, and she used those skills to hide the maelstrom in her mind as she made her preparations to leave.

She spent the first day at the office, explaining to a tearful Anna, an angry Ria, and a bewildered Loker that she was taking an indefinite leave of absence. True to form, she made a point of shouldering most of the blame herself, but she knew they would realize that Cal had played a large part in her decision. He would have to face that music on his own. Then she made sure all the financials were up to date and apprised the accountant of the fact that he would need to work with Cal from now on. She saved the worst task for last, doing her best to make her mind a blank as she cleared out her office.

It was this place that she really felt was the core of their relationship, the culmination of all their years together. Sure, she had met him at the Pentagon, in another office altogether, under circumstances they'd both rather forget. Yes, their first office had been a little hole in the wall where they'd struggled to appear legitimate for a year or two, but it was this place where they'd realized their dreams and this place where those same dreams had slipped through her fingers once again.

Every item she touched had some memory of him. The vase that had appeared on her desk one day after he saw her arranging a bouquet in a water glass. The painting he had helped her pick out. Even the photos on her desk that didn't contain him brought back memories not of the instance they were taken, but of his mobile fingers turning the frame as he looked at them with his special brand of curiosity. Putting all that in a box felt like she was packing up her life as she'd known it, so much more than just a collection of belongings.

Once she got home, she tried to decide exactly where she was going. Her first instinct was to hide in her bedroom, to make herself a little cocoon in her familiar home and hope that someday she could just emerge, metamorphosed. But she knew that would never work. She knew it was unlikely that Cal could resist the temptation of having her that close without giving in to the impulse to see her. Even if he did resist, she was afraid she wouldn't. No, this would require actual physical distance.

Finally, she remembered an invitation her friend Alison had once extended when she had seen Gillian looking tired after a particularly stressful case.

"I have a beach house out on the Sea Islands near Charleston," she had said. "We use it in the spring and summer but it just sits empty the rest of the time. The off season is quiet, so anytime you need to recharge, just give me a call and I'll give you the keys."

So Gillian did, thankful that her friend had sufficient tact to not ask any questions. In fact, it turned out that Alison was spending a year in California while her husband was a guest lecturer at Stamford. The beach house was empty for the duration and she gladly invited Gillian to use it for as long as she wanted.

"Don't worry, the house is being kept up by the property management company that services the island," she told Gillian. "I'll give them a call and tell them you're coming, they can turn on the heat and water and they'll leave keys for you at the front gate."

"I can't thank you enough, Alison. Really, I'd feel better if you'd let me pay rent or something."

"Nonsense, what are friends for. If it makes you happy you can pay the management firm. They really are an amazing service, they'll even deliver groceries in advance if you give them a list. Oh, and I almost forgot, we left a car down there too. The keys are hanging in the kitchen, so you should help yourself to it as well. Do it good to get driven, assuming it starts after all this time. Just give me a call once you're settled in and … whatever you're looking for, I hope you find it."

"I hope so too," Gillian replied.

Then she booked a flight and packed her clothes, shipped down anything that she couldn't carry, and made arrangements to close up her condo. Every action, every preparation, frayed the edges of her fragile control. She felt like a glass vibrating along with a tuning fork, just waiting for the frequency that would cause her to shatter.

Then Emily called.

She didn't answer. Then her phone beeped out its voicemail notification and her guilt got the better of her. She played the message and knew that she would have to find just enough strength to see this last thing through. She loved Emily like a daughter and there was no way she could resist the heartbroken appeal the girl had left on her phone. Feet dragging and heart hammering, she made her way out of her denuded condo and drove to Lightman's house.

She barely remembered the drive over there. One minute she was getting into her car and the next she was on his front stoop trying to control the tremors in her hand as she reached for the doorbell. Then it was ringing and her hand fell back to her side as she tried to wipe all emotion off her face.

It was a long moment before the door opened, but finally it did and Cal was standing there. She almost broke down as a flash of hope crossed his face, standing out starkly against the shame and despair that lay like a mask over his distinctive features. Her hand twitched at her side as she strained against the urge to touch his face, to smooth away the anguish she saw there.

But she knew that path just led back into the wilderness so she bit the inside of her cheek, letting the sharp pain clear her head, before she spoke.

"Emily called," she said, and then she twisted the knife. "I haven't changed my mind, Cal." She turned away so that she wouldn't see the curtain come down over his eyes again.

"She's upstairs," he told her in a voice drained of inflection.

Even if she hadn't known her way around Cal's house, she could have found Emily's room by following the sound of muffled sobs. When she reached her door, Gillian hesitated, worried about the conversation awaiting her. Knowing she had to come and knowing what to say were two very different propositions.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly. "Emily, it's me, Gillian." She barely had time to brace herself before the door was flung open and the teenager launched herself into her arms.

"Oh, Gill, I knew you'd come if I called. I knew you'd come back," she said, her face buried in Gillian's shoulder.

Gillian flinched when she heard her words. Extricating herself from the tearful embrace, she held Emily at arms length, one hand on each shoulder. Then she told her the truth.

"I did come, Emily, but only to say goodbye properly."

"But you can't leave," Emily insisted through a fresh spate of tears. "If you leave, nothing will ever be the same again."

"I know … but that might be a good thing." Emily looked at her in confusion, unable to understand anything except that someone she loved was leaving. "Before I go, I feel like I owe you something by way of an explanation," Gillian told her.

She led Emily back inside and closed the door. Then she sat on the bed and patted the spot next to herself, indicating that Emily should join her. Taking one of Emily's hands in her own, she took a deep breath and tried to find a way to express something she barely understood herself.

"The thing is, Em, your dad and I, we …"

"Whatever he did, I'll make him apologize. I'll make him change. I promise."

"You can't promise that, and even if you could, it wouldn't make any difference."

"Why not? If I can make him stop being a jerk then there's no reason for you to go. Just give me a chance, please."

"It won't work, Em, because your dad isn't the only one to blame. Yes, he's been a jerk, but I've _let_ him be one. Even if you could change him, that would only fix part of the problem, I need to change myself too. And I can't do that here."

"Is this forever, then?"

"I don't know."

Emily thought for a moment before she spoke. "Are you sure there's no other way?" she asked.

"Not that I can see."

"Oh God, Gill, I'm going to miss you so much."

The next thing Gillian knew, the tears she had been holding back for the past several days began to fall. She reached out for Emily, enfolding her in a hug, and they spent the next several minutes rocking together as they gave in to their grief. When their tears had finally slowed, Gillian stood up to leave. She looked down at Emily, wishing for her sake that she could stay.

"I'll call you. Not right away, and maybe not that often, but I will call," she promised her.

Then she headed back downstairs. Cal was still waiting in the kitchen and she knew he had been trying to listen in, hoping maybe she would give Emily some good news that she was withholding from him. But all she had for him was more heartbreak.

She chose a spot across the counter from him, not because she was worried about what he might do, but because she didn't trust her own resolve. Every time she glanced at his face it felt as though her heart was being squeezed so hard it might stop altogether. Every instinct in her, every impulse she possessed, made her want to reach out to him, to fix their breach, to smooth it all over and make him smile again. She couldn't do that, she couldn't let herself, and so she kept her distance. Not to be safe from him but to be safe from herself.

"I know where I'm going and I wanted to give you the information in person, because whatever else happens, I don't want you to hate me."

"I could never hate you, Gill. I …"

In a panic, she cut him off. She just couldn't let him say those words he had been about to speak, words that only a week ago she would have given anything to hear, so she jumped in, telling him about the house in South Carolina and handing him the address. She could see him resign himself to the inevitability of it all, see him slip into his role of the self sacrificing, long suffering hero as he forced himself to say the words he thought she wanted to hear.

"Thank you. I hope you'll be happy there."

But he hung onto that tiny slip of paper, staring at it as if memorizing the information would somehow keep him connected to her and she knew she needed to break that connection.

"I gave you that information for emergencies only. Do you understand that, Cal? I don't want you to contact me unless you have to."

Then she turned and left because she couldn't bear to see the his face now that she had dashed even his smallest hope. No, she thought, I won't be happy, but if I stay I won't be sane, so what choice do I really have.


	7. Will there really be a Morning?

_A/N: So, not all that much happens in this chapter but we do get introduced to an OC who will figure in the story later on. Obviously, now that Cal and Gillian are apart, there won't be the continual rehashing of events, just periodic shifts between their POV's in order to tell both their stories._

_Sorry for the delay in posting this, I got caught up in RL and just forgot. To make up for it, I promise to post the next chapter very quickly._

**

* * *

Morning** (excerpt)

_Will there really be a "Morning" ?  
Is there such a thing as "Day" ?  
Could I see it from the mountains  
If I were as tall as they ?_

**- Emily Dickinson

* * *

**

The next morning found her at the airport, glad of the anonymity afforded by the crowds of travelers as she grimly held on to the last shreds of her composure. She was relieved when they boarded and she could take her place by the window, momentarily distracted by the hustle and bustle of people seating themselves. All too soon, the flight attendant's safety lecture was over and the plane was rolling out to the runway. As the ground rushed past below, the enormity of it all finally struck Gillian. She was leaving, leaving her home and the job that was the culmination of her life's work, leaving the man who had been her best friend for the last seven years. The man, who despite everything that had happened, she loved with all her heart.

The plane's wheels finally lifted off the ground and Gillian had to close her eyes to stop her tears. Unfortunately, it didn't stop the scenes from past that played out against her eyelids, unbidden and unwanted. She saw Cal's face, shuttered and still as he watched her walk out his door, Emily's tear streaked cheeks as they hugged in her room, and worst of all, she saw the way he'd looked at her that night on the balcony, longing naked in his eyes. Drawing a shaky breath she lowered her head to her hands, pressing them tight against her eyes as if that might shut out the visions.

Suddenly, she was startled out of her misery by a voice close by her.

"Is there anything I can do? I'm not the best flier myself but I'm happy to help if I can."

Gillian looked up to see that she was being addressed by the woman seated next to her, who apparently thought her distress was brought on by a fear of flying.

"I'm fine," Gillian told her in a shaky voice. "I don't have a problem flying. I just ... I'll be fine."

The woman's brown eyes regarded her doubtfully. Clearly, Gillian did not look like she was anywhere close to fine, but fortunately her seatmate had too much tact to pry any further. Instead she seemed to decide on a program of distraction.

"Well, I'll take your word for it. I'm Maddie McLeod, by the way."

"Gillian Foster." She wasn't sure she was up to chatting but at least the company gave her a reason to keep herself together for a little bit longer.

"Are you heading to Charleston for a vacation?"

"No, I'm actually headed for Seaview Island, I'll be staying there, at least for the foreseeable future."

"Seaview is lovely, but very quiet this time of year. Do you have a home there?"

"No, I'm borrowing a friend's place. I don't really know the area at all."

Maddie seemed to take that as a cue to expound on the history and attractions of the islands. Her chatter could have been annoying but there was something about the slim, brown haired woman's easy manner and soothing voice that actually helped Gillian relax. She let the descriptions flow over her, only half listening, but grateful for the distraction. At some point she even fell into an uneasy slumber, not waking fully until the plane was touching down.

As they were waiting to roll up to the gate, Maddie turned to say goodbye.

"I know I'm being a little forward, but I spend a fair bit of time out in the islands so if you ever want someone to show you around I'd be happy to give you my number." She looked around at the people crowding the aisles and shrugged. "At least I will if you've got something to write with, I have cards but they're stuck up in the overhead bins."

Gillian doubted she would be in the mood for sightseeing anytime soon, but Maddie had such a pleasant way about her that Gillian found herself digging out a pen and card despite herself. When she handed them over, Maddie wrote her address and number on the back and then flipped it over before handing it back to Gillian. When she saw the information printed on the front her eyes flew up.

"You're a psychologist?"

"Yes," Gillian said, surprised she noticed that rather than the 'Deception Expert' title that usually caught people's eye.

"Then I really will hope you give me a call."

"Oh, no, I haven't done any clinical work in years," Gillian quickly demurred.

Maddie laughed. "No, not for me, for my kids. I run a community center for underprivileged children out on the islands," she explained. "Not kids from Seaview or the other resort islands, but there are lots of struggling families in the less well off areas, places like Johnson Island, where the service and agricultural workers live. We could really use your help."

"I don't know. I mostly came down here to get away from … work," Gillian said in a shaky voice.

"Work … and whatever was upsetting you when we took off in D.C.," Maddie said as she gave her a searching glance, making Gillian wonder if the woman was a natural reader or just an unusually sympathetic soul. "A distraction might be just what you need and we can use any help we can get this time of year."

"I thought this was a wealthy area?" Gillian asked.

"It is and it isn't. See, before the resorts, the islands used to depend heavily on agriculture and fishing, but as the exclusive neighborhoods have expanded, they've pushed out the original jobs and residents. There are fewer real farms and much of the fishing has moved to cheaper ports. There are plenty of service jobs available during the season but in the winter some families really struggle. And during the summer usually both parents work to make ends meet so the kids are abandoned to their own devices. That's where I come in. I give them a place to go when their parents aren't around and a place to escape to when they are and things get bad."

Gillian looked down at the card that Maddie had handed back to her, reading the address she had written, and her brow wrinkled with confusion. "Seaview Equestrian Center?" she asked. "I thought you said you ran a community center?"

"I do, but it's at the farm. I sort of wear two hats. I'm the head trainer and manager, but business is slow during the off season so I started a small horse rescue operation. Then I saw that there were just as many kids as horses in need of rescuing. I actually have a degree in social work so I put the two together and that is how Maddie's Menagerie was born. The kids help rescue the horses, and in the process, the horses save the kids. The farm is owned by the resort even though it's outside the gates. They support me fully, although I suspect it's mostly for the good publicity and community relations they get from my program, and not from any great love of charitable works," she explained with a smile. "Anyway, we'd love to have you and even if you don't help, I'm always available as a tour guide."

Gillian doubted she'd be up for either proposition anytime soon so she stuffed the card into her purse with a noncommittal smile and reached up for her bags to cover her lack of enthusiasm. Maddie didn't seem disturbed by her minimal response, merely patting her on the arm and heading down the aisle with a last goodbye.

While Gillian waited at the turnstile for her bags to appear, she called Island Transport, the car service that Alison had recommended. A half an hour later, she was ensconced in the back seat of a garishly painted, blue and yellow SUV, with her bags stowed in the trunk by a driver with a broad southern accent. She gave him the address and then leaned her head back and closed her eyes as a way to forestall any attempt he might make at conversation. She hadn't minded Maddie, but now that she was well and truly arrived, she was barely hanging on to the sharp edge of her composure.

She surprised herself by actually dozing a bit, opening her eyes briefly when they left the larger roads to turn down a rougher byway lined with live oaks hung heavily with spanish moss. The gnarled limbs lit by the headlights made the road seem like an unending tunnel and when the view didn't change over the next mile or so, she closed her eyes once more and didn't open them again until they stopped at the gatehouse that formed the entrance to the Seaview Island community.

She gave both her own and Alison's names to the guard, who after checking a list and looking at her license, produced a brochure, a map, and a set of house keys, handing them to her with a nod.

"Have a nice stay," he told her, but Gillian just took the items from his hand and sank back into the seat cushions.

As the car wound its way down the narrow roads, making several turns onto streets marked only with small signs, Gillian realized the reason for the map. When she finally ventured out from her haven, she would need it to find her way. Seaview island was a maze of tiny private roads. Finally, they reached the end of a small cul-de-sac and turned into a driveway bordered by marsh grasses. Moments later, they emerged into a clearing that held a modest looking cape style house held up off the ground by numerous grey stone pillars bridged with lattice.

Night had fully fallen and she couldn't tell much about the house other than that it was sided in shingles that appeared to be a weathered grayish-brown, with the trim and the pillars that held up the front porch picked out in creamy white. In all honesty, the fact that she couldn't see another house was more important to her than the appearance of the one she would be calling home for the foreseeable future. The driver lugged her bags up onto the front porch and then was on his way as soon as she paid him.

She turned the key in the lock and flipped the light switch beside the door, illuminating the front hall. Straight ahead of her at the far side of the house, she could see an expanse of windows in what appeared to be the great room. To one side there was also a glimpse of counter top that presumably was part of the kitchen. She tried the door to her right, revealing a closet, and then the one to her left that opened onto the master bedroom.

Despite having dozed on the plane and the ride here, the sight of the bed filled her with an overwhelming weariness. She dragged the rest of her bags inside, dropping them just inside the bedroom door. Then she unearthed some sweats and fell into the bed as soon as she was changed, glad the management company had done as they promised and turned on the heat and water. She knew her fatigue was not really physical tiredness, but rather born of her depression and mental stress, but it didn't matter either way. All she knew was that she was weary down to her bones.


	8. The only life you could save

_A/N: So just a short chapter before we visit Cal again. This probably should have been included with the last chapter but that one was already fairly long.

* * *

_

**The Journey**

_One day you finally knew_  
_ what you had to do, and began,_  
_ though the voices around you_  
_ kept shouting_  
_ their bad advice - - -_  
_ though the whole house_  
_ began to tremble_  
_ and you felt the old tug_  
_ at your ankles._  
_ 'Mend my life!'_  
_ each voice cried._  
_ But you didn't stop._

_You knew what you had to do,_  
_ though the wind pried_  
_ with its stiff fingers_  
_ at the very foundations - - -_  
_ though their melancholy_  
_ was was already late_  
_ enough, and a wild night,_  
_ and the road full of fallen_  
_ branches and stones._

_But little by little,_  
_ as you left their voices behind,_  
_ the stars began to burn_  
_ through the sheets of clouds,_  
_ and there was a new voice,_  
_ which you slowly_  
_ recognized as your own,_  
_ that kept you company_  
_ as you strode deeper and deeper_  
_ into the world,_  
_ determined to do_  
_ the only thing you could do - - - determined to save_  
_ the only life you could save._

**- Mary Oliver

* * *

**

It was full light by the time she awoke the next day, feeling as though she'd run a marathon in her sleep. She had disjointed memories of dreams about witnessed catastrophes, fated collisions she had been forced to watch from the sidelines, her limbs held fast by her uneasy slumber. Blearily, she wandered into the kitchen, blinking at the light that streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows of the great room.

She opened the fridge to find that the management company had functioned as advertised, delivering the staples she had requested. She brewed herself some coffee and choked down a piece of toast but the effort it required took all of her energy. Whatever had kept her running as she made her plans to leave D.C. deserted her now, and once her minimal breakfast was done, she crawled back into bed and surrendered once again to her twisted dreams.

* * *

She slept for three days, waking only rarely to eat a bit and occasionally explore the house. In all her wanderings, she was careful to avoid any mirrors, not wanting to see firsthand the wreck that she had become. Finally, on the third day, her natural strength asserted itself and she crawled out from the bed determined to try and function.

Still avoiding her reflection, she showered and dressed for the first time since she had arrived. Feeling calmer than she had in days, she took her coffee out onto the back porch, staring out into the marsh and shivering a bit in the brisk January chill. She welcomed the goosebumps. The prickling of her skin let her feel something, anything, other than the agony of the past few days. It reminded her that, if nothing else, she was still alive and it was time to get on with the business of living.

She watched as a flock of sparrows surged up out of the swaying grasses in response to something only they could sense. There seemed to be no other life in the winter shrouded marsh, just the wind and the reeds and the startled birds. With one last shiver, she drank down the end of her coffee and returned to the house, only to emerge moments later, clad in a windbreaker and walking shoes. She clambered down the steps from the deck and headed out along the boardwalk that cut through the salt marsh behind the house. Not long after the house disappeared from view, the boardwalk left the salt marsh behind as well, taking a meandering path through dunes crowned with the winter remains of sweet grass, and hollows filled with the scrubby growth of spurge and coastal thistle, some of which had retained its color despite the colder weather.

Finally, the wooden path passed between the last two dunes and emerged above the beach. Steps led from the boardwalk onto the sand and she followed them down. The wind was blowing harder here, roiling the sea into rough, low waves. The morning air still held a bit of fog that mixed with the briny spray the wind whipped from the waves. As she walked along the deserted beach, the moisture accumulated on her hair. When the wind blew a stray strand into her mouth, it tasted like tears.

She had no idea how far she walked, she just kept placing one foot in front of the other until a rocky breakwater extending out into the ocean blocked her path. Then she stopped, turning to face the sea and wind straight on. Squinting, she could make out a fishing boat far in the distance, its booms and cranes surrounded by a shifting flock of what had to be seagulls, looking for scraps. The beach was so desolate that, if not for the boat, she could have believed she was the last person left on earth. She certainly felt as if she was.

Closing her eyes, she spread her arms and let the wind buffet her body. The salt and sand it carried scoured her skin, and in her mind's eye, she imagined it scouring away the pain and failure as well. She stood there as long as she could take it, until she was damp and shivering in the forty-eight degree chill, her lightweight windbreaker inadequate to the task of protecting her from the January weather. She rubbed at the moisture leaking from her eyes, unsure whether it was tears or just the effect of the weather, and finally noticed that her fingers were numb with cold. Reluctantly, she turned and began walking back to the house, wrapping her arms around herself and hoping the brisk pace she set would warm her back up.

* * *

This became the pattern of her days. She walked and walked, and then walked some more. Sometimes she took to the roads or wandered the bike paths that crisscrossed the island, but always she came back to the beach. Back to the windswept, bare sand and tumbling waters that seemed to mirror her soul. It might not constitute much of a recovery but at least she was awake.

She rarely left the house except to pursue her pedestrian wanderings. She had tried the car that Alison had told her was there, and found that it started after a few tries, but the thought of leaving her haven made her weariness descend again. Grocery deliveries brought her food and she occupied her time working her way through the bookshelves she found in the great room, carefully avoiding the romance novels that once would have been a staple for her. When even the classics were more than she could stand, when some storyline touched too close to the raw places on her soul, she left fiction behind and read through her psychology journals online instead. And then, always,she walked again.

She knew she was hiding, but at least it was better than hibernating and when she did sleep, her walks had left her so exhausted that her slumbers were dreamless and deep. She had little contact with the outside world. As predicted, her cell service was spotty at best, and she let the answering machine pick up the few calls that came in on the landline. Email was avoided like the plague. She sent out one terse message: I'm here, I'm fine, I'll be in touch sometime later. Anyone who knew her could read between the lines and hear the unwritten plea for solitude.

She knew she couldn't keep this up forever, but for now it was enough to hide and walk and read and let her battered heart try to heal a little.


	9. No other soul shall bear mine company

_A/N: Sorry for the long delay but real life imploded and although this chapter was written a while ago, I was struggling with the note you'll find in it. I always have a hard time writing those for a character and getting the right tone but it was a necessary device, so don't criticize to much if it still seems OOC. Also, I did want to say something about Emily so far. Yes, I know that she was a bit more whiny and reactive in the previous chapters than she seems on the show but for all her exceptional maturity, she is still a teenager and one who just lost a best friend in a sudden way. While she will no doubt have plenty of probative things to say later, it seemed to me that anger, self pity, and accusations would be her initial response. But that's just me._

_The poem is just an excerpt because it is very long, but one that is well worth reading so look it up online if you are so inclined._

* * *

**A Fairy Tale (excerpt)**

I am no more a child, and what I see  
Is not a fairy tale, but life, my life.  
The gifts are there, the many pleasant things:  
Health, wealth, long-settled friendships, with a name  
Which honors all who bear it, and the power  
Of making words obedient. This is much;  
But overshadowing all is still the curse,  
That never shall I be fulfilled by love!  
Along the parching highroad of the world  
No other soul shall bear mine company.  
Always shall I be teased with semblances,  
With cruel impostures, which I trust awhile  
Then dash to pieces, as a careless boy  
Flings a kaleidoscope, which shattering  
Strews all the ground about with coloured sherds.  
So I behold my visions on the ground  
No longer radiant, an ignoble heap  
Of broken, dusty glass. And so, unlit,  
Even by hope or faith, my dragging steps  
Force me forever through the passing days.

**Amy Lowell**

* * *

The first night was the hardest. Without the whiskey's help, sleep did not come easily for Cal after Gillian left. Emily was still angry with him and stayed in her room, leaving Cal to wander the house restlessly, before finally climbing between the sheets only to wake repeatedly, soaked in a clammy sweat, as inchoate dreams made him cry out in anguish.

He finally got a couple hours of uninterrupted slumber just as the first, faint grey was tinging the horizon. When he did wake, Emily had already left for school and he found a note from her on the counter.

_Dad - _

_Sorry about yesterday. I was upset and said some things I didn't mean … well, maybe I did mean them, but I only said them because I want to help. Anyway, I love you and I know you're hurting, so please, dad, don't do anything crazy. Promise me you'll try … just a little, for me and for Gill._

_ Love, Emily_

His relief at Emily's forgiveness was palpable. Gillian and his daughter had always been the two still points in his chaotic life, he couldn't lose them both, and although he was sure that when it came to Gill it _was_ too late, for Emily it wasn't. With her words echoing in his mind, he dressed and headed for the office, figuring that if he couldn't drown himself in alcohol, at least he could submerge himself in work instead. He wondered if that qualified as _trying_.

By nine-thirty, Cal was pushing through the doors of the Lightman Group. As he stomped down the hall to his office, he could hear whispered voices coming from the breakroom. He paused, hovering out of sight, and listened to the conversation.

* * *

"Jeez, Loker, way to be a rat," Ria said as she leaned over his shoulder to read the text he was furiously typing and discovered he was scheduling an interview.

"What?"

"A couple of days and you're already making plans to flee the ship," she whispered angrily.

"To continue your analogy, I just want to have a lifeboat ready before Lightman takes us all down. Can you blame me for that?"

"You don't know that will happen," she argued, making Eli raise his eyebrows. "Okay, okay, I know Foster was the one who kept things running, but maybe with her gone he'll do it because he has to."

"And maybe he'll ride into work on a unicorn with rainbows spilling out its ass, because that wouldn't be any stranger."

"We should be helping, not making plans to leave," she hissed at him.

"Be my guest if you want to take Foster's place," Eli told her. "I, for one, have already spent too much time as his whipping boy to want to take on her share of the abuse."

"There is that," Ria agreed.

Cal's gut twisted at the last bit of their conversation; he had heard enough. "Oi!" he barked, making them both jump guiltily. "If you two don't get to work, you won't have to worry about jumping ship because I'll be throwing you both overboard," he snarled before stomping off down the hall.

"Shit," said Eli, "that was so not good."

"No kidding," Ria replied.

* * *

Cal sat at his desk, a muscle bunching in his jaw, as he tried to forget the conversation he had overheard, or at least to focus on the part that stung the least. If they wanted work, he thought to himself, they would get it. So much work that they, and he, wouldn't have time to think about anything else.

He turned on his computer and clicked on the files that Foster had sent to him before her departure. Even though they bore no more than her virtual fingerprints, the sight of them made his heart rise into his throat. In his mind's eye, he could see her, her posture elegantly erect, as she sat at her desk typing these words he was about to read. He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, then opened the financial report.

As he scrolled through the numbers he wondered exactly how it had gotten this bad. He could remember Foster trying to get him to moderate himself, and with a wince, he remembered his cutting remarks about her interference. But somehow the true gravity of the situation had escaped him, or maybe it was really that he had managed to escaped it. Well, there was no dodging now, so he picked up the phone and called the accountants.

"Sutter? Cal Lightman here," he said when his call was answered.

"Hello, Cal. Dr. Foster said to expect a call from you."

"Right, well, I need to make some changes," Cal said quickly, skipping past the mention of Gillian before the pain could rise again. "I want you to put off paying anything you can for a month —"

"But Dr. Foster already came up with a plan to cut down," Sutter interrupted.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Dr. Foster is no longer here," Cal snarled through gritted teeth. "So if I tell you to put stuff off, then I bloody well expect you to do it."

"Yes, but —"

"No, buts. I need to be running at full speed."

"And next month?"

"Do you really want to get into a pissing contest with me?"

"No, I just —"

"Then let me worry about next month and you just do your fucking job," Cal concluded before he snapped the phone shut on whatever additional complaint Sutter had been about to voice.

"Well, that's one thing taken care of," he muttered to himself before he moved on to the files full of prospective clients.

* * *

Two hours later, Cal had printed out most of the files and sorted them into three stacks. One large one, one middling size, and one that was much smaller. Gathering them up, he headed out in search of Loker and Torres. He found them in the lab, both bent industriously over their computers, although whether they were working or avoiding him after his earlier outburst, he had no idea. He threw the biggest stack of files down onto the table.

"Get to work on those," he said tersely.

Ria reached out to grab the first few folders and paged through them, her brow furrowing as she saw what they contained. "A cheating spouse? The suspicious father who wants his sons investigated before he writes his will? I thought we weren't taking these sorts of cases?"

Cal turned to level a glare at her. "_I'm_ not - _you_ are … unless, like Loker, you have alternate plans for employment."

Ria's eyes widened but her mouth closed. She could tell that anything she said at that moment would just add fuel to Cal's fire. He watched her until he was sure she had acquiesced.

"Right, then," he said and spun around, leaving without any other comment.

Loker got up and went over to the table to look at the files for himself as Ria blew out her breath in relief once Cal had left the room.

"Wow, most of them really are a pile of crap, and I have no idea how we're going to clear this many cases," he told her once he had perused a few. "Do you care how we divvy them up?"

"Huh?" she responded vaguely, her attention still focused on Cal and his exit.

"Earth to Torres," Eli teased her. "What's the matter? Are you still worried about Lightman overhearing us earlier or have the cases already rotted your brain?"

"I don't care about _our_ cases. I'm just worried as hell about what Lightman might have taken for himself."

Then they both stared back out into the hallway, brows furrowed as they considered all that could go wrong now that Gillian, the safety net under the tightrope that was Cal's life, was gone.

* * *

As it turned out, Loker and Torres were worrying for all the wrong reasons. As Cal passed by Anna's desk, he dropped the smallest stack of files into her inbox.

"Contact these people and tell them we can't take their cases right now."

"Only these ones?" she asked as she weighed the slim stack in her hand. "What about the others Dr. Foster was going to turn down."

"There are no others. We're taking the rest."

"But, how are we …" Anna started before she realized she was talking to empty air. Cal had already rushed out the door.

"How are we going to handle all of them now that Dr. Foster is gone?" she finished quietly to herself.

Little did she know that the overload was intentional. While he had saddled Loker and Torres with almost twenty cases, they were relatively easy ones and completing them would inject a much needed shot of cash into the firm. He himself had taken on fewer, but he had selected ones that were more complex and would occupy his mind and his time more thoroughly. Although he might tell himself that he was shouldering this crushing workload for the sake of the firm, the thought of sleepless nights and anguished days spent alone made him determined to leave himself no room for introspection. It was either work or fall apart, and Emily's note still blazed across his eyes, so work it was.

The only concession he made to sanity was to leave some of the cases that drew him most strongly on Anna's desk. Gillian had not had time to turn them down before she left, but she had prefaced some of the more sensitive ones with a plea for Cal to leave them alone. In truth, he did not feel their pull as fiercely as he once would have. His three day bout with alcohol and despair had left him feeling emptied out and he was too exhausted for the idea of filling that void with someone else's pain and suffering to hold much appeal. And besides, he was supposed to be avoiding the crazy; he was supposed to be _trying._


	10. You left me boundaries of pain

**bequest (excerpt)**

You left me boundaries of pain  
Capacious as the sea,  
Between eternity and time,  
Your consciousness and me.

**- Emily Dickinson**

* * *

Cal sat fidgeting in the waiting room of the insurance company, slouched sideways in a chair, one leg swinging and his fingers tapping with barely controlled agitation. This hadn't been his first choice of a case to tackle, but they had been the first to respond to his calls and he had felt such a need to get out of the office and away from Gillian's ghost that he hadn't waited. Unfortunately, his impatience had merely resulted in making him sit here now, waiting for his contact to become available and trying to simply not think at all.

Finally, a man in a charcoal grey suit and a sober tie came through the double doors behind the secretary, extending a hand towards Cal as he introduced himself.

"Dr. Lightman? I'm Parker Calhoun, head of the Claims department. Thank you for taking on our case."

"Thanks might be a bit previous, mate, seeing as how you don't know what I'm going to say about your case. I could end up costing you a chunk of change," Cal said as he shook the man's hand. He knew his words were a bit provocative but in his head he told himself that he had only promised to _try_ - he hadn't promised to turn into a choir boy.

Calhoun's eyebrows rose a bit but he kept his pleasant manner. "We just want to know what really happened. If payment is due we want to provide it. That's what we're here for."

"Huh," said Cal as he made a point of looking around the office suite quizzically. "I must have the wrong building. Thought I was coming to an insurance company, but _not_ paying is what they're all about. Bunch of bloodsucking leeches, if you know what I mean." He relished the disconcerted look Calhoun was giving him. "What? You can lie about your motives if you want to, but I'm not gonna join you."

"We wouldn't ask you to," Calhoun assured him smoothly. "Just that you don't let any prejudices you might have color your findings."

Cal just grunted his assent, his eyes still wandering around the room.

"If you'll come this way, I'll tell you about the situation while the investigator queues up the videos."

Cal followed him down the hall, only half listening as the man recapped details that Cal had already covered when he read the file.

"Catherine Finster owned an upscale inn and restaurant out in Albemarle County. At one time it was quite successful, but the economic downturn and the loans she took out to expand a few years ago pushed it to the financial brink. It burned down a month ago, under suspicious circumstances, and now she wants to collect the insurance. We suspect arson might be involved and are withholding payment pending our own investigation."

"And you're hoping I'm gonna tell you she torched the place."

"No, we want the truth."

Cal snorted in disbelief. "What did the authorities say?"

"They classified the fire as due to undetermined causes. Frankly, they think it could have been arson, but if it was, the signs were sufficiently disguised to make it impossible to know for sure. They're leaving the investigation open for now but they aren't pursuing it further at this time. Ms. Finster, however, is threatening to sue for her settlement and we need to be sure before we deny her."

"Because you want to do the right thing, is that it?" Cal asked sarcastically.

"Yes, Dr. Lightman," Calhoun answered with patience that was obviously wearing thin. "We want to do the right thing, but I won't deny there is also the fact that if we deny payment and are later proven wrong the company would be opening itself up to a potentially costly lawsuit."

By now they had reached their destination and Calhoun pushed open a mahogany door to reveal a conference room outfitted with the latest audio visual equipment. Seated at the long, gleaming wood table was an attractive, blond woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a suit but with much less of a corporate feel about her than Cal's current guide.

"Dr. Lightman, this is Carolyn Campos, the investigator assigned to the Finster case."

"Just call me Caro," the woman said with a pleasing lack of artifice as she held out her hand to Cal.

"Cal," he replied in kind before sitting down at the table.

"Caro conducted all the interviews and did the fieldwork. She'll be able to show you what we've got."

"Right, let's get on with it then, shall we. Time's a-wasting and all that. Plus, I'm getting a little tired of listening to the stuffed shirt over there tell me what he wants me to find." He was pleased to see Caro suppress a grin at his words - she looked like someone he could work with.

"Dr. Lightman, I have been saying no such thing," Calhoun protested.

"Well, there's saying … and then there's _saying,_" Cal explained as he waved a hand in Calhoun's direction, fingers wiggling as he indicated the man's expression, "and your face has been doing plenty of talking."

"Well then, I just hope Mrs. Finster _speaks_ to you as clearly."

Cal ignored him, raising an eyebrow in Caro's direction instead. She took the hint and started up the first of the videos while explaining what they contained.

"This is the police interview, conducted the day after the fire," she told him as a grainy, washed-out picture of an interrogation room came up on the screen at the end of the room.

Cal stood and dragged his chair up close to the screen before sprawling out in it once more. He watched a haggard looking but classically featured woman answer the cop's questions, tilting his head further and further to the side as the interview progressed. The play of expressions across her face occupied him and for at least a short while, his own problems faded. Suddenly he called out to Caro to stop the video.

"There - that's shame," he said as he rose and pointed to the woman's face. "When he asked her about how her business was going, she said it was improving, but she showed shame."

"What does that mean?" Calhoun asked.

"Don't know that yet, do I? Don't know if it means anything at all." Then he waved towards the controls. "Start it up again, will you, love," he said before slumping down again into his chair.

He stayed there until the video ended, then he looked over at Calhoun. "She didn't do it," he told him.

"How do you know?" Caro asked as Calhoun frowned.

"Run the tape back a bit," Cal directed her. "There. Stop. This is just after he asked her if she set the fire herself. She told him no and the only thing I can see on her face is sadness. There's not an ounce of guilt."

"But what if she had someone else set it for her?" Calhoun asked.

"They covered that too. Run it forward a tiny bit more - to where they ask her if she hired someone."

Caro did as he asked and Cal got up and went to the screen once more.

"See, it's the same expression and not a bit of leakage. She didn't do it," he told them.

"What about earlier, where you said she was ashamed?" Caro asked, as much from curiosity about the science as from any lack of faith in Cal's assertions.

"Well, I don't know exactly, but it seems to me that if the business you love is headed for the crapper, you might eventually blame yourself a bit, hence the shame," Cal told him, careful not to let the twinge he felt at his own words show on his face. "Doesn't mean you actively tried to make it go up in flames." _Unless you're me_, he thought to himself.

"I don't see how you can tell anything from a video of this quality," Calhoun objected stubbornly, his eyes on the grainy image.

"I can take it back to my lab and blow it up if you want, but it'll cost you," Cal told him.

"No need," Caro interrupted. "We did our own interviews and the picture is much clearer. I can play it for you now."

She pushed a few more buttons and a new film started to play. True to her word, this one was in perfect color and had a much closer focus on Melinda Finster's face. Cal watched the preliminary questions and then waved his hand when he wanted her to stop the playback again.

"Same thing here, only more of it. When she tells you that the inn was her pride and joy, she means it. She would never have destroyed it, no matter what the circumstances," Cal reiterated.

Caro hit play again, but Cal had stopped watching. He turned towards Calhoun and shrugged theatrically. "Sorry mate, but if I was you I'd pay up and shut up."

"Well, I guess that's what we brought you in to tell us - even if it wasn't what we were hoping to hear," Calhoun conceded graciously.

Cal, however, didn't get the full effect of the tacit apology. Something on the screen had caught his eye and he was watching it with interest. A man had entered the interview room and sat down next to Melinda, putting his arm around her shoulder. He whispered something to her and she shook her head. He said some more, all of it too low for the microphones to pick up more than vague mutterings. Melinda shook her head again, more vehemently this time and a fleeting expression crossed the man's face.

"Stop it right there," Cal called out. "Who is that bloke?"

"That's her husband," Caro told him.

"Does he have anything to do with the inn?" Cal asked.

"No, he's an accountant or something. Works in the nearest town."

"Well, I wouldn't go paying anyone too soon because she might be innocent, but he has guilt written all over his face. And that expression right there … that's fear." He swung around to Caro. "Did you ever question him?"

"Only briefly, the inn is owned solely by her. I think she already had it before they married and the policy is in her name only. Besides, he was on a business trip when it burned," Caro told him. "Wouldn't you have seen something in her face if he started the fire for her?"

Cal gave her a sharp look. "Not if he didn't tell her." He got up from his chair and headed for the door. "I want the two of them in my office as soon as you can get them there," he said over his shoulder as he stalked out of the room.

Cal was actually surprised at himself. He had intended to do the bare minimum. Watch their tapes and give them the answers as he saw them. Nothing more. Instead, he had opened a whole new can of worms and made far more work for himself. Oh well, he thought as he left the insurance offices, work was what he was looking for and he had even managed to go a whole hour without thinking of Gill. A whole hour when he was able to ignore the gigantic, Gillian shaped hole in his life. Now the real trick would be to fill his days so completely he never had a chance to look at the gap she had left behind. If it also saved the company, so much the better, maybe that would be what she needed to bring her back again.


End file.
